


a study in eve-ology

by inkstainedwarrior



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, POV Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Rating May Change, in which villanelle has no self control, niko is merely mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 13:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18895879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwarrior/pseuds/inkstainedwarrior
Summary: "A smile came to Villanelle’s face as the lock sprung open, just as it did every other time. By now she could make her own key from memory. Every ridge, every dip, implanted deep within her brain. It had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure, breaking into Eve’s house. "In order to gain a greater understanding of how Eve thinks, Villanelle decides to immerse herself fully in the woman's life... by breaking into her house and messing around.  Compliant with information given in 2x06.





	a study in eve-ology

A smile came to Villanelle’s face as the lock sprung open, just as it did every other time. By now she could make her own key from memory. Every ridge, every dip, implanted deep within her brain. It had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure, breaking into Eve’s house. Though they were growing closer as colleagues, Villanelle couldn’t help but feel the burgeoning distance between them. She had supposed it to be Niko’s fault, at first. That bumbling twit of a man. So weak and sweet and entirely underserving of a woman like Eve and the love she had to bestow. Niko had always been an easy target, the most reliable of places to lay her jealousy and blame. Niko was the simplest answer for why she and Eve weren’t together. It could be nothing else _but_ Niko. Villanelle liked this reasoning best, despite knowing that Niko was not the answer at all.

Sometimes, when Villanelle was in Eve’s house, she liked to imagine that she lived there with her. Draping over the couch, the young assassin would kick off her shoes and close her eyes, envisioning the life they would share. In her mind they were entwined together on that very couch, Villanelle running her fingers through Eve’s hair as they watched some god awful film that Eve had picked. Something baseless and American. She’d repeat the lines in her best imitation, speaking each word with the same overcooked dramatics into a mess of curly locks. _Shut up_ , Eve would moan, stopping Villanelle’s reply from forming with the supple brush of her lips against the younger woman’s. If Villanelle was not careful, she could lose herself in these fantasies. The two of them living a private life of domesticity that, more often than not, turned into pure eroticism.

On one occasion, Villanelle allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy. Her hand slowly travelling south as she rested atop Eve and Niko’s marital bed. Neither of them were meant to be home for hours. Niko was at a work thing with that insipid red headed woman. And Eve. Eve was buried in a mountain of complications that Villanelle herself had caused. When opportunity strikes, one must take it. When one creates the opportunity herself, one would be a complete and utter imbecile to let it go to waste. The bed had been so inviting. Not as large a bed as Villanelle would have purchased, but big enough for two. Big enough for intimacy. And intimacy she imagined. Eve’s scent was everywhere, not just to one side. A deeper, muskier smell. One belonging to a space frequented often. Villanelle rolled in it, her eyelids fluttering to a close as her hand moved. As imaginary Eve moved. The knowledge that she shouldn’t be here excited her. The fact that she was desecrating a sacred space shared between husband and wife excited her more. Speeding towards release, Villanelle gripped the sheets with her spare hand, her body contorting as her face turned to bury itself deeper into the plump scent of Eve’s pillow.

The slam of a car door brought her to a screaming halt. An anti-climactic ending to the fantasy that had been building its way to completion. Niko’s voice boomed from the driveway, followed by something smaller sounding. Regaining composure, Villanelle vowed never to indulge again. That, and to run Niko’s toothbrush around the toilet bowl a few times on her next visit.

Often Villanelle’s visits were passed in complete spontaneity. Opening cupboards, perusing book titles, moving things one inch to the left so they felt somewhat out of place. Simply being in Eve’s house allowed her to bridge the separation that had been forming. Allowed her to gain a better understanding of the woman she loved, and why she could be both so close to her heart, and yet so distant. Today’s visitation bore a special mission. Complete comprehension.

Villanelle took pride in her absolute knowledge of everything. It wasn’t a subtle brag – it never would be. Compared to your average person, the young assassin knew a considerable amount more on a wide variety of subjects. Fashion, language, how to manipulate others into embracing their own demise. She was quick on the uptake, and selfish enough to ensure she reigned supreme. If there was a problem to be solved, Villanelle would find a way to solve it. People, she found, were a revolving door that circled through the same set of desires, needs and emotional states. Whilst she lacked a greater understanding of feelings and emotions, she knew how they looked in others and how to manipulate them. But when it came to Eve… she faltered.

Had you asked her a week ago what she knew about Eve, Villanelle would have responded _everything_. And to some extent what she knew about the woman still stood true; but there had been too many… surprises, too many instances where Villanelle was required to sit back and reassess this amazing woman that forced her into action. A reconnaissance mission. A submergence.  This evening, whilst Eve locked herself away at work in an effort to ignore the collapse of her marriage, and Niko locked himself away in the bosom of a redheaded bimbo, Villanelle would lock herself into Eve’s mind frame.

Closing the door behind her, Villanelle first moved towards the kitchen. In order to think like Eve, to understand her completely, she needed to become her. In the fridge sat an open bottle of white wine. It was somewhat cheap, and Villanelle had the distinct impression that it was the same open bottle that had been there on her last visit. She took a swig, her mouth swelling with the desire to be rid of the foul vinegar. Definitely the bottle from last visit. Resisting the urge to do Eve a favour and toss it, she put it back in the fridge and started riffling through the full tupperwear containers. The only thing Villanelle had learnt so far was that Eve needed to clean out her fridge. If she wanted to dive deeper into the psychological reasons for this refrigerator neglect, she would most certainly find a Niko sized excuse. And Villanelle was bored of Niko sized excuses.

Instead, she decided to dip her other foot in. The Eve waters were still a little icy. To add some heat and an all-round welcoming atmosphere, she decided to trawl the CD racks for something that just screamed EVE! Though she couldn’t discern between what was Niko’s, and what was Eve’s, one case caught her eye. Bright in colour and promising the greatest hits of the 90’s, Villanelle decided that this would be the soundtrack to her Eve-ification. Upon opening the case, however, Villanelle was presented with some of her previous handiwork. A disc that was _not_ a compilation of 90’s hits, but instead the album of some band or another. With a shrug, and a tune, she made her way upstairs.

Like the amount of clicks it took to open the front door, Villanelle had memorised the number of steps to Eve’s bedroom. She had counted them thrice before. The first time she lost count, her mind focusing a little too heavily on the memory of chasing Eve up them and the way she had looked in the dress bought specially for her. The second time she lost count again. This time her mind had wandered to the implausible idea that Eve might be atop them, waiting for her; welcoming her with a warm smile and widened legs. The third time she managed to count them all. The steps she would one day walk from Eve’s front door to her bedroom, Eve in tow.

The room, unsurprisingly to Villanelle, was a mess. Everything about Eve seemed to be a mess lately. From the order of her house, to the way she wore her clothes. She knew it was nothing more than a physical representation of her current mentality. She also knew that she was partly to blame for that. Not that Villanelle would complain; the confusion and messiness leaned heavily in her favour. As did the clothing strewn across the floor. The items were cold to the touch, indicating that they had been there since at least the night before, but still Eve’s scent lingered on them. Villanelle lifted a grey shirt and held it close to her chest, spreading the fabric along her arms and around her waist. Pressing her nose to the coarse material, she inhaled, the familiar and intoxicating scent flooding her nostrils.

It amused her to know that Eve still wore the perfume she had gifted her. Not often, but enough to leave an impression. Villanelle wondered what the deciding factor was when it came to the perfume’s usage. Special occasions? As a marker of sexual desire? When she wanted to feel close to the woman who had gifted it? Every now and then the assassin would catch a whiff of it when in close proximity to Eve and it drove her wild. Perhaps that was a reason? The way Eve’s lips swam into a smirk upon noticing that Villanelle had noticed the scent drove her wild furthermore. Confidence and superiority looked attractive on the older woman, and if Villanelle could help it, she would concede more, just to bask in its allure.

Everything about Eve’s wardrobe marked her as the mouse in their game of chase. Dull, muted tones on shapeless excuses for clothing. There was no real sense of personality or flair in these items. They didn’t accentuate every dip and curve of the woman’s body the way they should, didn’t announce the raw sex appeal this woman carried to the world. Of course, the purchasing of such clothing could be forgiven. Villanelle knew that Eve lacked both the financial and self-esteem levels required to purchase anything more daring than the shirts and sweaters and casual pants that littered her wardrobe.

Located at the very back of the hanging disaster sat an object that Villanelle recognised from earlier in their relationship. A suitcase, once missing and since returned. The zip didn’t quite close, alluding to hidden treasure. Indeed, within the suitcase remained the items gifted to the apple of her eye – sans one dress and one bottle of perfume. Villanelle felt a stirring in her chest, something akin to awe, and an overwhelming amount of it. Though it disappointed her that Eve didn’t wear the gifted clothing, it touched her that the woman had even kept them. A sign of an underlying, adulating affection. Pushing the suitcase aside, Villanelle began to remove her own, more fashionable clothing and assessed the situation at hand. To become Eve, she ought to dress like her.

Picking out a plain shirt that Villanelle had seen her wear more than once (completely ignoring the fact that Eve might own more than one of the same plain, colourless shirt), and a pair of slacks that swam around the young woman’s hips, she assembled a very Eve looking outfit. Standing in front of the mirror, Villanelle hated what she saw. A body, covered in cloth. She might as well be a mummified Egyptian pharaoh for the amount of fabric that hung from her. Hell, she thought, even the fucking wrapping on the mummies were more form fitting. As far as an insight into Eve went, this explained little, whilst simultaneously explaining a lot. How could one see herself for the incredibly sexy and powerful being that she is if she is hidden beneath so much plainness? Clothing wasn’t everything, Villanelle knew this. Eve could wear a hessian sack and still be the most brilliant, gorgeous woman the assassin had ever seen. But in this outfit, Villanelle felt small. Unnoticeable and unworthy. Was this how Eve felt every day?

Overwhelmed, Villanelle sat on the edge of the bed, eyes locked on the mirror before her, and the ghost of her former self hidden beneath such dull dressings. Again the scent of Eve’s perfume, the one she had gifted her, filled the air and she had another thought. This attire, as mundane as it was, served a purpose. In such clothing one could easily be mistaken for a mouse. One could blend in, fly under the radar and still play the game. These dressings, whilst an outcome of circumstance, also served a greater purpose. They hid the predator that lurked just below the surface. Eve, in these clothes, was the wolf dressed as a sheep.

A smile broke across the young woman’s face as she came to this realisation, and, giddy with glee, she threw her body back into the mattress. Her head hit Eve’s pillow with a thud, and, inhaling that dark scent again, she clutched at the plump softness that held her. The scent was stronger than Villanelle had ever remembered it. Perhaps luck was on her side and she was resting on unclean sheets. She took a deep breath in, her body arching and twisting atop the mattress.

“What are you doing?” Villanelle’s eyes flung open to find Eve standing above her, shock and intrigue clear in her penetrating gaze.

Caught, red-handed and off-guard, Villanelle bit her lower lip and offered a small shrug in response. “Oops?”

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea prior to episode 2x06 and then became inspired to actually write it after the episode?? There is potential for a second chapter here, something canon divergent and potentially smutty... Let me know your thoughts!


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